


in all your gorgeous colors

by nothingbutniall



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, No Smut, Painting, SO MUCH FLUFF, babies in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingbutniall/pseuds/nothingbutniall
Summary: Sander uses Robbe as his canvas because he is a sappy idiot.(In honour of October 12th, 2019.)
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 12
Kudos: 112





	in all your gorgeous colors

**Author's Note:**

> If wtfock isn't going to give us the sobbe content we deserve, I guess I'll just write it myself.
> 
> (Title comes from Niall Horan's Black And White.)

Robbe wakes up feeling suspiciously well-rested, the sun turning the insides of his eyelids red.

He scrunches his eyes shut and tries to turn from his stomach to his back, but a hand on his shoulder stops him.

“No, don’t move!” Sander says.

It’s only now that Robbe becomes aware of the weight of the other boy on his butt, Sander’s legs resting on either side of Robbe’s hips. Sander’s toes have gone slightly sweaty where they touch Robbe’s knees, and it would be gross if it weren’t for the fact that they’ve traded other bodily fluids before.

Finally, Robbe’s mouth connects to his brain. “Why not?” He can feel something cold and liquid and sticky on his skin, and he’s just about to ask Sander if he’s discovered another one of his kinks, but then the soft bristles of a paint brush move across his skin and he lets out a content sigh.

It tickles a little, and the cold liquid he now recognises as paint gives him goosebumps.

“What are you doing?” he asks again, because Sander is keeping quiet.

“Painting,” Sander murmurs.

Even without seeing his face, Robbe can hear that he’s focusing on something, and he imagines Sander’s tongue poking out just the tiniest bit, brows knitted together in quiet concentration.

“Don’t get too into it. I’ve got school,” Robbe reminds him, nuzzling deeper into his pillow. It’s difficult to get a good view of Sander from this angle, but he strains his neck and catches sight of Sander’s smile. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Quarter to ten.”

Robbe moves so fast it makes Sander topple over. “Ten?” he asks, voice raised, sitting up on his knees as he tries to locate his phone in the room. “Sander! I’m gonna be late.”

“You ruined my design!” Sander complains, grabbing Robbe’s shoulder as he tries to push him down again.

“Your – de–” Robbe splutters. “Sander!” He tries to shake him off.

“What?” Sander circles his hand around his wrist instead, pulling him closer. “Stop panicking, I covered for you.”

The words are probably meant to soothe Robbe, but they end up having the opposite effect.

Robbe narrows his eyes at his boyfriend. “Sander Driesen. What did you do?”

Sander at least has the decency to look mildly ashamed. “I called your school and told them you’d come down with a cold.” He bites his lip. “And that you needed to get a Covid test done.”

Unbelievable.

Robbe stares at him, trying to keep his expression neutral, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re a right idiot,” he tells Sander.

“That you love.”

Robbe sighs dramatically, a proper smile on his face now. “That I love,” he admits. He doesn’t even try to hide the fondness in his voice.

“Now will you lie down again before you get paint all over my sheets?”

“What’s the magic word?”

“ _Baby_ ,” Sander says with a smirk. He _knows_ what that word does to Robbe, even months into their relationship, and Robbe contemplates waiting for the _please_ , but he’s nothing if not weak for Sander’s glimmering eyes.

He lies back down again, thinks of the maths class that he’s now missed, and smiles into his pillow. He won’t tell Sander thank you, but Robbe doesn’t actually mind the unexpected day off all that much.

Especially not if he gets to spend it in bed with Sander.

Sander has gone back to painting his masterpiece, though he’s switched to just using his fingers instead of a brush.

He kneads his knuckles into Robbe’s muscles, presses the tips of his fingers along his spine, places large, open-handed prints on his skin.

Robbe has half a mind to ask him if he’s drawing a very detailed penis, but even forming the thought feels like too much of an effort.

He drifts between sleep and consciousness, feels the heat of the sun on his back and the familiar weight of Sander’s body on top of his.

Emotions bubble up in his throat, like he might cry from how _good_ he feels right now, how safe and loved and cared for.

“Why today?” he murmurs, voice scratchy from disuse.

“Hmm?” Sander is just using his pinkie now, drawing swirly lines across Robbe’s side.

“Why did you call me in sick today?”

“It’s our one-year anniversary.”

Robbe frowns. “No, it’s not. It’s October.”

Sander flops down next to Robbe, brushing his hair off of his forehead. He’s smiling. “Sorry, let me rephrase that. It’s _my_ one-year anniversary.”

Robbe blink at him.

“I first saw you on this day, one year ago exactly.” He kisses Robbe slowly, bites lightly at his bottom lip. “Little graffiti rebel,” he murmurs against his lips.

A blush colours Robbe’s cheeks. He forgets, sometimes, that they’d met before they’d met. That Sander’s infatuation didn’t start at the beach cabin, but rather weeks before, in a badly lit hangar that smelled like piss.

“’s that what you’ve painted on my back then? A graffiti piece?”

Sander shakes his head. “No, just something I dreamed of.” He grabs his phone from the nightstand. “I’ll show you.”

He snaps a few shots, then sits down on the mattress with his legs crossed. Robbe sits up and plasters himself against his back, not caring if some of the paint would smudge on Sander’s skin.

It’s clear that Sander hasn’t held back. Robbe’s entire back is covered in colour, dipping down low into his boxers and going up as high as the nape of his neck.

It takes Robbe a second to see what the fuzzy lines make up, but then he recognises the scenery. Blue, lots of it. The shapes of two people. Yellow striking through the blue, bathing the people in a bright halo.

Them, last year. A swimming pool lit up. Chlorine burning in his eyes, his lips on fire for an entirely different reason.

It’s a modern rendition of Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_ , except better, more beautiful, more powerful, because it’s _them_. It’s them as the start of their story, the big bang that started their universe, their time zero that lead to a forever.

**Author's Note:**

> why are they so cute :(
> 
> (Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated! Find me on Twitter: @nothingbutniall)


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